


Into The Ice

by dinolaur



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinolaur/pseuds/dinolaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Howard Stark never stops looking for Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into The Ice

It’s marked on the calendar, big, bold, and red. Not that he needs the reminder. The date has been seared into his brain for the past thirty-five years. Time hasn’t really helped. He doesn’t feel any better when his mind wanders and he thinks back to those days. He doesn’t think that he should have been faster or that if he had given out better instructions then things would have been different.

It’s been thirty-five years since the end of the second World War. It’s been thirty-five years, almost to the day, that Captain Steven Rogers went down over the Arctic Ocean, saving the lives of millions of people in his sacrifice. And it’s been thirty-five years that Howard Stark has been searching for the wreckage.

Life both is and isn’t what Howard expected. Howard is a brilliant man, the very top of his field, and has been for all of his life. He always expected to do great things with his brilliance and charisma. He expected his company would keep him rich—and richer and richer—all his life. He expected to stay involved with his military contracts, because that’s where the best money comes from and that’s what he’s good at. He expected varying levels of stress. This is, after all, a high stakes occupation.

Of course, when he was in his twenties, he hadn’t expected the stress to send him face first into a bottle of alcohol. Howard drinks. He drinks a lot. Probably too much. Definitely too much. But it’s all he can think to do. A big gulp of scotch, and the burn reminds him that he’s alive, and a couple of glasses brings about a sweet numbness.

Howard knows that he’s not a particularly personable man. He’s been able to admit that since he was a kid. He does better with work than relationships, understands machines better than people. It doesn’t matter if he loves those people, he still doesn’t know what to make of them.

Steve Rogers was one of the few people that Howard managed to get along with well. It sure as hell wasn’t anything that Howard did. It was all Steve. That man, there was just something about him. You stood next to him, and you just knew that everything was going to work out all right. Steve seemed like he could do anything. He was a legend even before his sacrifice. Something about his innocence, his earnest expressions, his downright goodness, it just made Howard feel at ease around him. They had been good friends.

But then Steve had gone up against the Red Skull that last time. Steve had won, but it had cost his life.

And that had done a number on Howard, more than he had ever admitted to anyone. Steve had been something like Howard’s first true friend, the first person that Howard had really felt a decent connection to. And he was gone. But the war was still going on. Howard had been mostly employed on the European front. After Steve took down Hydra, the Nazis were soon to follow, and then the fighting was pretty much only in the Pacific. And Howard wasn’t interested in the Pacific. He was interested in the frigid waters of the Arctic.

And so he left the bases, left the fighting, assembled a crew and a boat and went to find Steve. Honestly, he had never expected to find him alive. He had hoped, and he had wished, but he had never expected. Howard found the Cube, the source of Schmidt’s too advanced technology, with laughable ease. But he didn’t find Steve. He was out there in the cold and ice for months, searching and searching. The war raged on. Occasionally, Howard would fly back at the demand of General Groves to handle his work on the Manhattan Project. But he always returned immediately to the cold. And when the bombs dropped and the war ended, Howard was still out there. But he couldn’t find Steve. He couldn’t find any trace of the wreck.

And he still hasn’t. Howard has never stopped looking. He used to go once a year when he was younger, in the decade after the war, like clockwork, leaving on the day that Steve went down. By now, it’s every three years. There’s just too much else going on. And his body’s not that resilient anymore. He’s got the company to worry about, the arms race, he’s trying to do things with arc reactor technology that just isn’t working the way he needs it to, and then there’s his family.

Howard trudges into the mansion. Jarvis, at the door, is good enough to not say anything about how he looks. Maria doesn’t say it either, but it’s written all over her face. He’s leaving tomorrow, and he looks like a mess. He’s a few drinks in, and he missed dinner. But Maria doesn’t say anything. She never does, not about this. It’s sort of an unspoken agreement they have. She knew Steve too. She knows how much that friendship meant to Howard. She knows, and so she lets him have this one thing without complaint.

Despite what consequences it’s going to have.

“He’s still awake,” Maria says. There’s no judgment in her tone, even though he deserves it. There’s not judgment, and she’s not going to say more than that, but Howard knows this is one of her conditions. There are certain things he has to adhere to for her to let him have these expeditions without complaint.

And her biggest condition is always Tony.

It’s not that Howard doesn’t love the boy. God, he loves the boy so much. Tony’s an amazing kid. He’s smart, too smart. He’s been sneaking into Howard’s lab since he was three, pulling apart old projects and tinkering. He’s already building circuit boards and small robots. Tony’s going to do amazing things with his life, things Howard could never dream of doing. He’s so incredibly proud of the boy. He just doesn’t know how to talk to him.

He and Maria have argued about it plenty. He ought to know how to handle Tony because Tony is like Howard. Tony would probably be more content to build friends than go out and find them on the playground. He likes to get dirty and run around just as much as any other kid, but he prefers to do it in a lab, getting grease stains so deep in his clothes that Jarvis complains they’ll never come out.

But Howard has been in a bad place for most of his life. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another, and he knows what it’s going to do. He knows he’s going to mess this kid up, because that’s what he does. If it isn’t numerical, if it isn’t a machine, if it isn’t business, he’s going to ruin it. Howard just figures the boy has a better chance if Howard doesn’t impose all of his shit on him.

But, since he is leaving tomorrow and plans to be gone for about four months, he needs to go spend some time with the boy. It’s late, so Tony’s in his room, already in pajamas and in bed. He’s not asleep though. He’s sitting up, his lamp on, tugging at the wires from one of his little games. Howard’s heard him jabber on about it before. He thinks he can get in there and do something to the programing to make the game better.

He probably can.

“Hey, there, kiddo,” Howard says after a few minutes of just watching him. Tony looks so much like him. It’s a little bit frightening sometimes. He’s got the same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth, the same jaw, the same coloring. He’s a spitting image. He’s got some Maria in there, but that comes out more noticeably in his personality. Tony’s louder than Howard, a more natural showman, whereas Howard consciously has to perform to sell the company and his ideas.

“Daddy,” Tony cries, tossing the game aside and jumping out of bed. He runs for Howard’s legs, and Howard reaches down to scoop him up before Tony can get a hold. He laughs, loud and clear and innocent, and Howard’s heart breaks a little. Was he ever that happy?

“Bit late for you to still be awake, isn’t it,” Howard asks.

Tony smiles. “Mommy said I could just today,” he declares. “Just until you got home.”

“Uh-huh,” Howard says, walking Tony over to the bed. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

“Dad,” Tony says, and the amount of exasperation there could only come from a child, “it’s Saturday.”

“So it is,” Howard says, dropping to the edge of the bed. He doesn’t move to shift Tony over and into the sheets, and Tony stays put. It’s pretty rare that Howard spends time with him like this, doing things that normal parents would do.

“Since I don’t have school tomorrow, can we work on the Corvette,” Tony asks, hoping shining in his eyes. The Corvette is a beauty of a car that was in awful condition when Howard found it—and the man who had owned it previously ought to be put to death for that—and is Howard’s pet project with Tony. It’s the closest thing they have to bonding. On slow days, Howard puts aside a few hours to working on it with the boy, teaching him all the mechanical information he’s practically salivating to learn.

“Um, no,” Howard says. “We’re not going to be able to work on the car for a while.”

“Oh,” Tony says, face falling into disappointment. “You’ve got work.” It’s really bad that that’s more of a statement than a question.

“It’s—it’s actually not work, Tony,” Howard says. “But it is very important, and I’ll be gone for a few months.”

“Months,” Tony whines, eyes wide. Howard is gone a lot, but usually business trips only keep him out of town for about a week or so at a time.

“It’s very important,” Howard repeats, wishing he had a drink. Tony was so small the last time Howard went out to the ice. He was so young, and maybe he noticed that his father wasn’t around, but it didn’t matter so much back then when he was still in diapers and getting the hang of talking. But he’s older now, and he notices everything.

“It’s important, Tony, because,” Howard starts but trails off. Tony, too smart, too perceptive, knows something’s up, and he waits patiently, looking up at Howard with those too big, dark eyes. 

Howard looks up and around Tony’s room. It looks a lot like a child’s room should. There are toys—although some of those toys are more mechanical parts that Tony’s swiped from God knows where—and a small bookshelf. There’s a dresser and a little desk. There’s a bucket of building blocks, a fair number of the pieces scattered over the floor. And there are posters and action figures and comics, all of which feature Captain America.

Captain America is Tony’s favorite superhero, because Captain America was real and because Tony is very proud to say that his dad knew him. Children learn about Captain America in school. He’s a pretty big chunk of the World War II curriculum. He was such a huge symbol during the war, such an important part of the war effort and the propaganda. He’s still relevant to children, because their parents, their fathers and grandfathers, tell stories about fighting in the war and seeing Captain America, being saved by him, fighting beside him.

And that’s great. That’s how it should be. People should remember Captain America and all that he did for the sake of their freedom. But someone should also remember Steve Rogers. Sure, it’s common knowledge that that was Captain America’s name, but when people tell stories, they’re talking about the legend more than the man. Howard knew the man, and that’s what he tells Tony about.

Howard can’t manage to tell Tony stories about Steve all that often. It hurts too much, and he can’t get through it all without a stiff drink. But he tells Tony what Tony needs to hear, and Tony’s as much fascinated by Steve as he is Cap. Two years ago, he was Captain America for Halloween, and last year he wore an army uniform with a little nametag he made himself that said _Cap. S. Rogers._

Howard drank a lot last Halloween.

“Tony,” Howard says thickly. “I’m going to tell you a story about Captain America.” For a brief moment, childlike excitement overpowers Tony’s concern, and he smiles widely. Howard hates what he’s about to do, but he needs to tell Tony about this before he leaves. “I’m going to tell you about the very last time he fought the Red Skull and when he gave up his life to save us all.”

Tony looks like he’s just been told Santa isn’t real and that he’s not getting anything for his birthday or Christmas.

Howard fights the urge to get up, leave the boy to his happier fantasies and get a drink. He shifts to hold Tony better on his lap, and he tells Tony the story. He tells him about how the Red Skull wanted to take over the world by destroying all the major cities. He tells Tony that Steve and his team infiltrated the base and Steve fought his way onto the giant plane. He tells Tony what they know of the fight and how Steve knew he couldn’t stop the plane any other way than to crash it into the water. He tells Tony that Steve went down talking to his Aunty Peggy—he’s met Peggy a couple of times, and Maria always has him write her a letter on Christmas and her birthday.

And when he’s done, he’s holding Tony close, and Maria is there—Howard’s not sure when she came in—rubbing a hand soothingly over his back. “That’s where Daddy’s going,” Maria’s saying, and Howard’s trying so hard to keep it all together in front of the boy. “He’s going to go look for Captain Rogers to bring him home.”

Tony looks a little confused by that, so Howard explains, “He shouldn’t be out there in the ice all alone.” His voice breaks a little, and Maria’s grip on his shoulder tightens. “He should be able to rest at home, in America, with other war heroes.” There’s already a great memorial in Arlington. That’s where he’ll be put, if—when, _when_ —Howard brings him home.

Tony’s little arms go around his neck, and he says, “You’ll find him, Dad.” And Howard can’t hold back the two tears that escape his eyes, but he catches himself before he says anything stupid, before he unloads all his years of failure on the poor child.

Howard clings to his son for some moments before Maria finally intervenes. She gently pulls them apart, telling Tony that it’s far past bedtime, even for a weekend. She lifts him up and tucks him under the covers. She kisses his forehead, pulling back to wipe away the little smudge of lipstick she leaves. She tells him she loves him, and he says the same to her. She clicks off the light and waits for Howard in the doorway. He sits there for a moment, watching Tony, but when Tony tells Howard that he loves him, all Howard does is reach out and ruffle his hair.

``

Four months. He’s in the Arctic for four months. And just like the last time and the time before that and the time before that, he finds nothing. Oh, sure, the research teams and the environmentalists are getting plenty of data and whatever, but the thing Howard’s out here for is nowhere to be found. Steve is nowhere to be found.

The day he calls an end to the expedition is like every other before it. He tells the crew they’re going home. He puts in a telegraph to inform Maria, and then he goes into his cabin and gets sloshing drunk.

And when he gets back home, it’s late, very late, and he’s more tired than he’s ever been in his life. He’s already old, but he looks years older still, beaten and weathered and just bone weary. The house is dark and quiet, and even Jarvis has retired for the night. Maria is awake though. She’s curled up in a chair in the sitting room, wearing her fluffiest robe and curlers in her hair. She’s flipping through a magazine but gets up at the sight of him, her slippered feet shuffling on the carpet. She doesn’t smile at him, doesn’t kiss his cheek or hug him. She just takes his hand and squeezes it because there isn’t anything more she can do.

And Howard is just about to trudge up the stairs and collapse into bed when he sees a lump on the couch. It’s Tony. He’s obviously tried to stay up long enough to see his dad get home, but the hour’s just too late for the little guy. He’s half kicked the blanket covering him away, and Howard can just make out that he’s wearing his Captain America pajamas, and he’s clinging to an action figure.

And whatever precarious grasp Howard had is gone. He sobs and nearly collapses, and it’s only Maria’s quick reflexes that keep him upright. He can’t do this anymore. He can’t handle it. He’s failed Steve time and time again, and he’s just so messed up in the head all the time. He’s a failure as a friend and a person and a parent. He can’t get through a day without at least a couple of drinks, and he just can’t anymore.

Except he’s going to keep looking. Despite how much it hurts, despite what it does to the rest of his life, no matter what the cost to his life and sanity or anyone else’s, he’s going to keep looking. It’s his punishment, and he’s going to continue to accept it. Because he’s messed up and nothing—not Peggy or Maria or even Tony—can change him, despite how much he wishes it could. This is the life he’s been dealt, this bitter, booze-filled, painful sham of a life, a life where he has everything and knows it but can’t or won’t do anything with it.

Through his misery, he somehow manages to hear Tony mutter in his sleep, and Howard pulls away from Maria, stumbling away and up the stairs. If Tony wakes up, he can’t see Howard this way. And Howard just can’t look at his too innocent son, Tony with his whole life ahead of him, in those Captain America pajamas, still happy and optimistic.

But that doesn’t last. Howard ruins everything. He doesn’t stop working, and he doesn’t stop drinking, and he doesn’t stop looking for Steve. All the while, he grows further and further apart from his son until there’s nothing that resembles a decent relationship between them. Howard’s gone so often. They’re all but strangers. It’s still all right on his next trip out, but the next Howard comes back from the Arctic, Tony, eleven years old, just looks up at him from the machine he’s tinkering with. He just looks at Howard, acknowledges his existence, and then goes back to his work. It’s just as well. Howard doesn’t want to talk to him. And at the last homecoming, the last trip he makes before the accident, when Tony is fourteen and at home on break from his boarding school, he glares at Howard and storms from the room before Howard himself can retreat.

And, he thinks, that’s probably even more fitting of the mood.

 


End file.
